The Watcher (25 page)

“It’s all really new,” I said finally. “I don’t understand it yet. I need your help.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

They lived in a big old-fashioned wood frame house with a large porch overlooking the bay. I followed them inside to the kitchen. Fatima excused herself for a moment to take her things to her room, and Farouk disappeared, muttering something about leaving us alone to talk.

Like the house itself, the kitchen was quite old-fashioned and tastefully decorated with white painted cupboards and a blue-tiled backsplash. In the corner by the windows was an antique oak dining table. A blue vase filled with sunflowers sat at its center.

Dark wooden furniture and a comfortable-looking sofa over a red Persian rug filled the living room. At one end of the room hung an ornate wood-framed mirror, and at the other stood a dresser. Resting on velvet cloth sat a book bound in red leather covered with ornate gold scrollwork. It looked so important I was almost afraid to touch it.

“It’s the
Qu’ran
,” Fatima said from behind, startling me. I was more nervous that I thought. “It’s the Muslim Bible.”

Not knowing what to say, I nodded. I did know that much.

“My parents are kind of religious,” she said, leading me back to the kitchen, “but Farouk and I are far more liberal in our practice.”

Under her right arm she carried a small wooden box, which she placed on the kitchen table. I took a seat across from her.

“Now, what did you want to know?” she asked, her face calm, impassive.

Unsure where to begin, I pulled out the note from Damiel and showed it to her. When she read it, her forehead crinkled with concern.

“When did you get this?”

“Today.”

“And he hasn’t been at school all week?”

I shook my head. “Do you think he put it in my locker before last week and I just found it now?”

“Let’s see, shall we?” She opened the box on the table. Inside was an object wrapped in blue silk. She carefully unfolded it to reveal a deck of ornately designed tarot cards.

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“Since I was twelve,” she replied. “Don’t tell people, okay? My parents don’t even know about it. Tarot isn’t very Muslim of me. Farouk doesn’t even approve. He’s been turning a blind eye to it for years.”

Admiring how she’d managed to keep her gift a secret, I raised my hand as though I was making an oath. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
As I hope mine is safe with you.

She smiled, holding the cards up to me. “Shuffle,” she said, then demonstrated what she meant, “keeping your question in mind.”

I took the large cards in my hands. They were cool to the touch and slightly worn around the edges. I shuffled and thought about the note from Damiel, but thoughts of Michael quickly interfered. I struggled to focus. When I had finished shuffling, I handed them back to her.

She pulled the top card and placed it on the table facing me.

“Seven of swords,” she said plainly. Her eyes glazed over, unfocused—or focused somewhere I couldn’t see. “It usually means someone with cunning and confidence: things are not as they appear, some kind of trickery. Someone is taking from you.”

Cunning and confidence—that was most certainly Damiel. And Michael had said once that Damiel was taking from me. “How does this relate to the note?”

“It means he only seems to be away. He will be back, and he wants more than he’s asking for.”

A prickle ran across my skin. It was the truth. “What can I do about it?”

She pulled the next card and put it on the table. On it was a naked couple with an angel in the clouds above them, its arms outstretched.

“The Lovers,” she said.

Heat rose to my face in spite of myself. If only Michael and I could be lovers! When Fatima looked past me again, her brow furrowed. I wondered what she was seeing.

“You have been given a gift of love, and for it you must love beyond anything you’ve ever imagined before,” she said.

Well, that seemed easy enough. I had never loved anyone or anything as much as I loved Michael. But how could love possibly be the answer? In some ways it was the problem.

She pulled another card and frowned. “The Devil.”

Before I could stop myself, I shivered. “What’s that about?”

“It’s the outcome card,” she said plainly.

“The Devil is the outcome?” My heart caught in my throat. “What does that mean?”

She picked up the card thoughtfully. “It’s one of the most difficult cards to read. It can mean someone you’re bound to. Someone who has power over you in some way, who has enslaved you. It can also mean someone who is caught or enslaved by a belief.”

“
That’s
the outcome?”

“As far as I can tell.”

My mind whirled with all the possible ways this could go wrong. Suddenly, all concerns about Damiel’s note left me. This reading was about me and Michael. Things not being as they seemed: that was about how happy I was with him. How in spite of everything, all his warnings, I held onto the belief that we could be together somehow. Fatima didn’t know Michael’s history, that our being lovers in the first place had had disastrous results. She didn’t know how much I longed to be with him again. Even if it meant we could never be physical with each other.

I tried to hide how depressed I was. From the looks of the cards, it would happen again. Michael would be faced with temptation and if he caved, he would fall again.

I stood up. “Thanks.”

“It doesn’t have to be bad,” she said, her eyes becoming more focused, clear.

I fought the urge to cry. “How can it not be bad?”

“The Devil challenges where we’re caught. If we can surpass the blocks, it can lead to true transformation, or even ascension.”

I thanked her again. Even though she was optimistic, I felt hopeless. There was nothing about surpassing blocks that meant I could be with Michael. I would love him forever; being with him meant everything to me. But if one thing came out of this reading, it was that I couldn’t tempt him again. I wouldn’t be responsible for his fall. Not this time.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I was cleaning up the dinner dishes when Michael arrived on my doorstep. Underneath his gray button-down shirt, which transformed his eyes into jewels, was the signature white tank top he wore for flying. With his hair still damp, drying in curls around his face, he looked more angelic than ever.

My hands soapy, I waved him in through the window and he joined me in the kitchen.

“I’m just finishing up,” I said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“I’ll dry,” he offered and held out his hand for the towel. There was a gash on his arm; it had to be fresh.

“You’re hurt.” I grabbed his hand to examine it, but he pulled it away.

“It’s not that bad.”

Instantly everything that had happened in my day vanished. I was lost in concern for him. “What happened?”

He leaned on the kitchen counter across from me. “We were trying to prevent a rape,” he explained. “Arielle was working with the girl, trying to guide her to what she would need to do to get away or at least survive. She brought me in to work with her attacker because…well…I know the voices that he has to fight inside himself.”

He paced from the kitchen into the living room. I followed him, drying my hands. “How did it go?”

“We were swarmed. They were lesser demons, but all working together, like Azazel. There were hundreds this time. Arielle and I tried to call to the others for help but they landed so fast… At first we tried to stay focused on the assignment. The girl…she was…”

He rubbed his eyes. Was he tired, or trying to wipe away what he’d seen? I couldn’t tell. I wanted to hold him, give him some comfort, but his body was so wiry and tense I wasn’t sure if he’d let me in.

“You did all you could.”

“By the time we were done…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but the look of devastation on his face said it all.

“You did your best,” I said soothingly.

“Arielle said the same thing.” He sighed heavily. “The girl was attacked, but she lived. When we’d dispatched the demons, it was easy enough to pry the beast off of her. Not so easy to let him live.” His anger filled the room as he strained to pull himself together, his expression both haunted and sad. “It could have been you.”

I took a step closer, touching his face, and he leaned his cheek into my hand. “I’m right here,” I said reassuringly.

“What if it happens again?”

“You’ll be more prepared,” I said. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. If anyone can learn from this, it’s you.”

He sighed, accepting that. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he opened his arms so I could lean into him. As he rested the side of his face gently on the top of my head, I listened to the steady beat of his heart, knowing I needed to mention the note from Damiel but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not yet—not when he’d had such a rough night.

Within a few moments, he tensed and backed away. Bright light flared around him. Squinting, he shifted his focus as though he was listening to something far away. A look of resignation crossed his face.

“What is it?”

“I’m still on duty tonight.” He ran a hand through his wavy bangs, pushing them out of his face. “I’m being called,” he said flatly. “To Portland. Another major attack.”

“Portland?” I asked, shocked. “Portland’s a three-hour drive away.”

“It’s way faster by air,” he said, and it took me a moment to realize he planned to fly.

I knew that he would at some point have an assignment and be called elsewhere; he had a larger purpose. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. He’d already been on one call that night and it seemed to have deeply affected him. Clearly, he needed time to process.

His expression hardened with determination. “I’m not going.”

“Wha—?”

“I’m not going. They can send someone else.”

“People’s lives depend on you.” I thought of the attack he’d just prevented. However badly it went, his being there had made a difference. “That girl probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

He took my hands in his. “
Your
life depends on me, too.
Your
life is the one that matters to me. Don’t you get that? I’ve waited thousands of years to see
you
again—”

“Michael, you can’t disobey.”

“What if all of this is a ruse? It all picked up since Damiel left. What if it’s a trick to keep me busy and away from you?” He linked my fingers through his and pulled me closer. This didn’t sound anything like him. The Michael I knew was bound to his sense of duty, obedient to God, and determined to ascend. Something was wrong.

“Michael, you sound paranoid,” I said, trying to keep myself calm. Seeing him this worried made me think things were a lot worse than he was letting on.

“Or maybe I’m the only one who sees this clearly.” He bent his forehead to mine, almost touching. I wanted to lean in, to soothe him, but I had to talk some sense into him.

Unlinking my hands from his, I held the sides of his face. “You have to go. You can’t—”

The rest of what I was going to say was cut off by his lips pressing against mine. His kisses were intense, angry, restless, as he leaned into me, filling a need within him and awakening a need inside me, too. I was swept away by it. I knew it was wrong, that we should stop, but I didn’t care. In no time at all I had reclined on the couch, his body pressed into mine, and I didn’t want him going anywhere.

Still on top of me, he pulled back and placed one of my hands on his chest. His heart hammered against it—as fast as my own. The look he gave me was fierce and yet gentle too, as if he saw so much more of me than I even knew existed. He stayed that way for a long time and said nothing. He didn’t have to; his look said so much. I met his stare, matching his quickened breathing, my heart pacing with his.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, husky. “Mia, I—”

“Can’t. I know. It’s okay.” I touched his arm lightly with my other hand. I wasn’t going to stop touching his chest. His heartbeat was steady but fast. “We should stop.”

“I love you,” he confessed. His eyes captured mine with a dazzling blue light. “I always have.”

I’d suspected he felt something for me, but hearing him say it meant more than I’d ever imagined. “I love you, too,” I whispered.

He nodded. “I can feel it.”

“You
can
?”

“Yes. It makes it so much harder to stop when I know your feelings, not just my own.” I couldn’t keep the look of amazement off my face. He brushed a stray hair out of my eyes and continued, “All the angels can feel, but for so long I couldn’t. I forgot how amazing it was… It’s why enthrallment is so dangerous; it reverberates. So if I make you feel something, I feel it too.”

“Michael, you haven’t
made
me feel anything.”

He kissed me again with a dizzying intensity and swept me up into his arms until I was on top of him, kissing his face, his neck, as he let out the softest of sighs. His hands, warm and strong, gently caressed my sides, the skin just under my shirt, and the next thing I knew my shirt was off. My soft blue lace bra was pretty, and if I didn’t know it looked good on me I would have from the look on his face: he regarded me as though I was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Saying my name softly under his breath, he kissed me again and again and again. It was what I’d always wanted, but something was wrong. There was something
else
he was
supposed
to be doing—not this. He turned us again until he was on top, and removed his shirt and then the white singlet. His skin was beautiful, glowing a soft gold in the incandescent lighting of my living room like he was bathed in candlelight. His chest warm and smooth, I had to touch it, feel it against my own skin.

“Michael?” a female chorus said, the voice so familiar to me now. She had entered so silently neither of us had heard her.